


who could ask for anything more?

by osnesqueen



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Theatre AU, basically I work in theatre and there was no way for me to not fill this prompt so here we go, squad goals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 09:45:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14446599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/osnesqueen/pseuds/osnesqueen
Summary: "we have to build thirty set pieces in a week and you singing along to the radio is the only thing getting me through it"In which Amy is Brooklyn's best production manager, Jake is her lighting technician, and the Vulture is.... the Vulture. Squad shenanigans ensue.the b99 backstage theatre au that I can't quite remember the origins of (but I'm fairly confident started because of startofamoment's post-s4 hiatus prompt list... we won't talk about how long ago that was mkay?)title from one of my fave shows "an american in paris"





	who could ask for anything more?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [startofamoment](https://archiveofourown.org/users/startofamoment/gifts).



> I absolutely have not had this doc sitting in my writing folder for almost a year absolutely not....
> 
> (except it's absolutely true)
> 
> I work in theatre so when this prompt came up it was too good to pass up, and then life got busy and I didn't touch it for ten months. I only recently rediscovered it and I figured why not do this thing for real?
> 
> So, without further ado: the theatre au that brings Jake and Amy together in the way only working in a dark box for 12 hours can (and also the perfect distraction from my real theatre work... here we go).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from "kiss me kate"

_ Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. _

Raymond Holt narrows his eyes at the wall clock, it’s second hand the only noise in the room. The constant ticking is a reminder that he had been summoned to an empty office; it’s minute hand points at the two, indicating that Madeline is ten minutes late to their meeting (and counting).

Even when she requests his presence, she still has to have the upper hand.

“Five more minutes,” he mutters. “If she isn’t here by then…”

“You’ll what, Raymond?” Madeline Wuntch breezes into the room, blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. “Throw a fit? Storm out of my office? Break one of the lights in my theatre?”

Holt offers a dry smile. “For the last time, Madeline, that wasn’t me, that was your incompetent stage manager. Whom you hired, I might add, so really it was your own stupidity.”

“You have no proof that was CJ,” Wuntch dismisses, making her way over to the desk chair.

“Well, it certainly wasn’t me,” Holt fires back. “Although while we’re discussing grievances, I don’t appreciate being kept waiting. I do have other things to do.”

“Sorry about that,” Madeline says, voice lacking any sincerity. “Artistic director things, you understand?” She offers Holt a sickly sweet smile. “Oh, that’s right, you wouldn’t.”

Holt clears his throat and grabs his briefcase. “I certainly did not come all the way to Brooklyn to be insulted,” he says, standing to leave. “Goodbye, Madeline. I hope your broom falls out from under you.”

He’s almost to the door before he hears it - small, quiet, defeated.

“Wait.”

Holt turns back slowly. Wuntch waves her hand at the seat he had just vacated. 

“As much fun as it is to trade barbs, I actually did ask you here for a reason. Sit, Raymond.”

Holt merely arches an eyebrow, and Madeline sighs.

“Please.”

It’s a small victory - Holt has never heard that word cross Madeline’s lips in the twenty years he’s known her - and it’s certainly no apology, but he’ll take what he can get. He makes his way back over to the desk, choosing to lean on the back of the chair rather than sit where Wuntch indicated. She purses her lips at the action, but chooses not to comment.

“I’m not sure if you heard, Raymond, but I’ve received a huge opportunity - running the Public Theatre in Manhattan,” is what she says instead.

Holt’s face remains deadpan, though his eyes harden a bit at the smugness in her tone. “Yes, I did. Congratulations.” 

Wuntch smirks, leaning back in her chair; she had the upper hand back, and she knew it. “Thank you, Raymond. But that opportunity means that the Nine-Nine is in need of a new artistic director.” 

Ray remains quiet, watching as Madeline taps her fingers together, obviously uncomfortable with what she was about to say. Finally, she sighs and leans forward, placing her palms on her desk. “I’d like that person to be you.” 

Holt blinks. Of all the things he expected Madeline to say, it certainly wasn’t that. 

“You - what?”

Wuntch again indicates to the chair Raymond had occupied earlier; this time, he complies, sitting down across from her and putting his briefcase on the floor.

“The Nine-Nine is my baby,” she explains. “I started this theatre with my savings account, little support, and big ideas. It’s grown into the best theatre in Brooklyn. I created it from the ground up - well, Pembroke and I did, but my point is that if I’m leaving this theatre, I need to know I’m leaving it in good hands.”

“Pembroke,” Holt furrows his brows. “As in Keith Pembroke? But he is still a co-owner, is he not? Do you not trust him to run the theatre in your absence?”

“No, I don’t,” Madeline says. “If it were up to me, he would have left this theatre long ago, for a myriad of reasons. There is a reason he is only co-owner and not artistic director. I need someone I can trust at the helm, someone who will love this place as much as I have. Despite our past, and my loathing to give you any credit whatsoever, I know that you will treat this theatre with the respect it deserves and allow it to flourish in the years to come.”

A triumphant grin is slowly forming on Holt’s face. “You need my particular talent and expertise to make sure your theatre doesn’t die.”

Madeline sighs. “If that’s how you need to think of it, yes.”

“‘Yes’? No snide remark, no sharpening of claws?”

“Like I said, this theatre is my baby. More than that, it’s my home. If I’m going to leave it, I need to know it’s in good hands, so if you need to hear meaningless drivel in order to accept the position, then that is what I’ll give you. Despite our differences, you and I have always been able to acknowledge the good work of the other, and that is what I’m trying to recognize here.”

Although a large part of Holt wants to laugh in Madeline’s face and walk out the door, the professional part of him knows she’s right. He may despise the woman, but her work is exceptional, and he knows she feels the same way about him. Twenty years is also a long time to go in this industry with an enemy, and this offer is a way to work towards the personal civility that had been lacking since they were students. Not to mention she was offering him his first, and perhaps only, chance at artistic direction, through her own precious theatre. It was an offer he would be a fool to decline.

“Would you remain the theatre’s owner?” Holt questions. “I don’t intend to have you looking over my shoulder all the time should I accept.”

Madeline sniffs. “Believe me, I’ll be busy enough at The Public that I won’t have time to supervise you. You’ll just have to be a big boy. But yes, I would remain co-owner of the theatre, with the option to buy me out once your first year as artistic director has passed. During that trial period, I would have the right to remove and replace you should I see fit.”

“And the technical team - I would be allowed to hire whomever I deem appropriate?”

“As you would be taking over so close to season opening, you are required to allow the current in-house team to finish their season’s contracts. Beyond that, by all means, hire whomever you like, although I think you’ll find there’s no better team to be working with.”

Holt considers it for a moment more. 

“How soon would I be able to look over my contract?” 

Madeline grins. “It’s already drawn up,” she says, pulling a stack of papers from her top drawer and slapping them on the table. “Although you are, of course, allowed to return a signed copy later, you’ll find it’s pretty standard, and I’m actually due at The Public in an hour, so the sooner I can get you settled into your new role the better.”

Holt slides the contract over to his side of the desk; despite his better judgement, it does look as though Madeline has chosen to play by the rules. He crosses a few things out, amends a few others, and signs his name on the dotted line before pushing it back towards Wuntch. She looks it over and laughs. 

“Is that all?”

He nods. “I’ve altered the terms of the contract that I found disagreeable, and those are the terms I’ve signed on. Take it or leave it.”

Wuntch holds his gaze for a beat. Finally, she nods. “In that case, welcome aboard,” she says, adding her own signature to the end of the contract and rising from her desk. “Now let’s move, I need to introduce you to the team. There’s a lot of work to be done.”

And that’s how, with just under three weeks until season opening, Raymond Holt found himself the new artistic director of the Ninety-Ninth Theatre Space.

 

* * *

“No.”

Amy sighs and rubs her temples, trying hard to contain her annoyance. “Is there any particular reason why this design won’t work?”

Keith Pembroke leans across the table, making sure to get into Amy’s space, before offering a sly grin. “Because I said so, that’s why.”

Amy forces herself not to flinch away from him, instead locking onto his beady eyes. “Mr. Pembroke, your show opens in three weeks and we still haven’t started on the set. If you want the actors to be standing on anything other than an empty stage, we need to get moving.”

“It’d be a lot easier to decide if you dum dums would draw what I asked for.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Amy sees Terry’s spine stiffen. She doesn’t blame him; he had re-designed the set four times already, each time taking Pembroke’s increasingly ridiculous demands into consideration. For the past two months, the conversation had gone exactly the same - they presented it, he shut it down for no reason at all, and Terry tried to re-shape his design into something that would finally allow them to get moving. 

“We’ve done our best to work with the ideas you gave us. I appreciate you wanting the perfect set, so if you could be any more specific, it would really help.”

“How’s this for specific?” Pembroke snaps. “I don’t like it because it looks stupid, and my shows are not meant for stupid people. You wouldn’t understand. Draw it again.”

“Mr. Pembroke -”

A knock on the conference room door interrupts Amy, and Pembroke jerks back slightly. The knock is shortly followed by a tall blonde woman, and behind her is a man that Amy recognizes instantly, her eyes widening in shock. 

“Raymond Holt is in our conference room.  _ Raymond Holt is in our conference room _ ,” she whispers, frantically pinching herself. She turns to Terry anxiously. “Please tell me you see him too or I might punch myself in the face.”

Terry eyes her. “Damn, Santiago, calm down. It’s just Holt.”

Amy stares at him. “Just Holt?  _ Just Holt?! _ That is Raymond Holt, one of the most influential directors in New York theatre, an advocate for proper representation, an incredible artist -”

“Well, I see there’s no need for a formal introduction then,” Madeline’s dry voice cuts through Amy’s ramble, and Amy feels the tips of her ears burn.  “You seem to know quite a lot about your new artistic director already, Santiago.”

Amy’s mouth drops open. “Our - our new artistic director?”

Madeline slides her hands into her pockets. “Yes. I’ve been offered the position of artistic director at The Public Theatre, and as such will be leaving the Ninety-Ninth Theatre Space. Raymond will be taking over my job here, effective immediately.” 

Behind her, Holt’s face remains impassive, betraying no emotion about the news.

Madeline inclines her head towards Amy, Terry, and Pembroke in turn. “Raymond, I’d like you to meet Amy Santiago, Terrance Jeffords, and Keith Pembroke. Amy is our production manager for the season and Terry is our set designer. Keith is our in-house director.”

Amy immediately jumps out of her seat, hand outstretched. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I look forward to working with you on the rest of the season.” 

Holt steps forward and shakes her hand firmly. “I look forward to seeing how you work, Miss Santiago.” He turned towards Terry. “Mr. Jeffords, it’s good to see you again."

Terry stands as well, offering Holt a nod. “Sir. Looking forward to working on another show with you.”

Amy gasps quietly. “You’ve worked with  _ Raymond Holt _ and you didn’t tell me?”

Terry looks down at her. “Didn’t seem relevant.”

“Didn’t seem  _ relevant?! _ Terry -”

“That’s quite enough, Miss Santiago,” Holt says, holding up a hand. Amy immediately falls silent; she can feel the flush working its way from the tips of her ears down her neck. “The tone of awe, while flattering, is unnecessary, and any further praise will just take more time away from this meeting.” He looks down at Pembroke, who remained seated when he was introduced and was now watching the interactions with narrowed eyes. “Mr. Pembroke. Pleasure to meet you. My apologies for interrupting your meeting.”

Pembroke turns in his chair. “Doesn’t matter, it was done anyways.”  He pushes the drafting away from him viciously. “Do it again.”

“This meeting is not over, Mr. Pembroke,” Amy says firmly, snapping from fangirl into serious-professional mode. “If you don’t choose a set today, you won’t have one.”

Holt looks surprised - at least, that’s what Amy  _ thinks  _ flickers behind his eyes; his deadpan expression remains. “You haven’t started working on the set yet?”

Yup, that was definitely surprise in his tone, and, Amy’s sinking gut told her, disappointment.  _ Great _ . 

Pembroke sneers. “No, because these two haven’t drawn anything I like. Including this garbage that you showed me today. Do it again.”

Amy grits her teeth. “Mr. Pembroke, Terry has drawn the set for you four times, each time making alterations based on your...suggestions. I’m sorry that nothing has seemed quite right to you, but we simply cannot wait any longer to start working on the set. If this design doesn’t appeal to you, perhaps something from one of the older ones will.” She nods at Terry, who quickly pulls out more drafting. “You do, however, have to make some decisions, and I refuse to end this meeting until you do.”

Pembroke stands, anger flashing in his eyes at her tone. “How dare you speak to me like that. Who do you think you are, giving me orders?”

Holt speaks up before Amy can retort. “She’s your production manager, and it is her job to ensure that your technical requirements are met. She’s concerned about the state of your set and, frankly, so am I, and I’ve only been your artistic director for a little over an hour. So, Mr. Pembroke, I too refuse to let this meeting end before you pick a design.”

Pembroke’s nostrils flare as he rolls his head towards Holt. There’s a beat of tense silence while they stare at each other, and then - 

“Fine. That one,” Pembroke says, jabbing his finger towards a random piece of drafting, and Amy’s jaw drops.

He’s somehow managed to pick the most complicated set design, and Amy isn’t entirely sure it wasn’t on purpose.

“Mr. Pembroke, as production manager I have to inform you that that set just isn’t possible in the time we have left.”

“And as production manager, it’s your job to make it happen,” Pembroke snaps. “You wanted me to choose a set, I did.” He glares at Holt. “We done here?”

Holt’s face remains impassive. “Yes.” 

Pembroke rolls his shoulders. “Good.” He walks towards the door, passing behind Amy on his way. She forces herself to remain relaxed as she feels him pause behind her, getting far closer than is workplace-appropriate.

“You know, I could be...persuaded to choose a simpler design,” he whispers, his breath hot in her ear. It takes everything in her not to shudder at the clear innuendo in his tone; instead, Amy keeps her eyes trained on the table, pulling the set design towards her and pretending to study it intensely. 

“Mr. Pembroke.” Holt’s voice is sharp from across the room. “If that’s all, I think it’s best we leave Miss Santiago to her work.”

Pembroke sniffs, moving only slightly away from Amy. “You’ll regret this,” he says lowly. It takes a pointed throat-clearing from Holt for him to leave her space completely, sending one last leer her way before finally leaving the room. Holt and Madeline follow just behind him, allowing Amy to finally lose some of her professional composure.

“Ugh, the Vulture is the  _ worst _ ,” Amy sinks into her chair, burying her head in her hands. “I have no idea how we’re supposed to get this set finished in time, and he knows that. He’s just looking for an excuse to fire me.”

“Is that what he told you?” Terry asks. “When he stopped behind your seat?”

“I wish,” Amy grumbles. Terry looks at her expectantly, and she sighs.  “He told me if I slept with him, he would choose a simpler design.”

“He what?!” Terry yelps. “Amy, that’s ridiculous. I can’t believe he’d say that to you.” His voice drops down a bit, and he studies her face. “You know you don’t have to, right?”

Amy nods. “I know, Sarge. I wasn’t planning to. As much as I appreciate your outrage, this unfortunately is the norm for me, and I’ve figured out the best way to handle it: make the best damn show the Vulture’s ever seen.”

Terry grins at her. “Atta girl, Santiago! So what’s the game plan?”

Amy turns back to the drafting, already envisioning how the set build has to go. “Call the full team in and tell them we’ll be working over time for the next week.” She grimaces. “And then pray they don’t hate me for it.”

Terry nods. “I’ll make some copies of the drafting and round them up. Production meeting in fifteen sound good to you?”  Amy nods, chewing her bottom lip as she studies the set design, and he drops a comforting hand on her shoulder. “It’ll get finished, Santiago. That’s the magic of theatre.”

As Terry leaves the room to grab their friends, Amy sinks further into her chair. She knows the set will get finished; she isn’t worried about that. She’s more concerned about all the damage that could be caused in the process. No one wants to work overtime, especially not the hours they’d have to pull to complete this, and throwing Keith Pembroke into the mix… it’s a recipe for disaster.

She allows herself a few more minutes to wallow before straightening and turning to a fresh page in her notebook, new determination in her writing as she starts planning the coming week. This is what she loves, and she’ll be damned if she lets the Vulture take that from her. 

She just hopes the team feels the same way.

* * *

To their credit, the team takes it in stride.

Amy remains professional, apologizing only once, but inside her heart is doing backflips. This is the part of her job she hates the most: disappointing people who have faith in her. If she had been more on top of things, they wouldn’t have been in this position. She should have put her foot down earlier, forced the Vulture’s hand -

_ Stop it, _ she internally scolds.  _ It wouldn’t have made any difference, and you know it _ .

The team seems to agree; as she explains what happened, Terry chiming in now and then, their faces set into determined masks. There is a bit of anger in their eyes, but Amy can tell that it’s not directed at her, but rather the Vulture for putting them in this position.

(It helps that Jake loudly proclaims that the Vulture is an ass the minute “overtime” leaves her mouth.)

“Once this meeting is over, please call your assistants and ask them to come in as well. It’s going to be all hands on deck,” Amy says. Three heads nod in agreement; beyond Terry, Amy had only requested to see Jake, their head electrician, and Rosa, their in-house stage manager. The four of them are the core of the Nine-Nine; she had worked with them every summer since she first got the internship with Wuntch. If anyone would be respectful in their disappointment, it was them, and she can only handle so much negative energy at once. 

Also, Rosa Diaz is the scariest stage manager she knows and she has zero doubts that the sub-teams would respond quicker to her growled commands than Amy’s apologetic information.

“I realize that some of them are still in training, but everyone must be wearing appropriate safety gear at all times: boots, glasses, the works,” Amy reminds them. She sends a pointed glare in Jake’s direction. “That includes you, Peralta.”

Jake sends her a lopsided grin. “Ah, c’mon Santiago, that was  _ one  _ time -”

“And it will never happen again, understand?” Amy cuts him off. “I can’t afford to have any of you out of commission because of stupid mistakes. Especially not when jobs are on the line.”

“Whose jobs?”

Amy freezes.

“Um, no one’s. I was… kidding? For dramatic effect?” she suggests weakly. Rosa simply stares at her; the iron in her eyes is all it takes for Amy to crumble.

“Well, not job _ s _ , per say, basically just one - ”

“Whose job, Santiago?” Rosa barks.

“Um, well… mine?” Amy mumbles, face burning. She can’t bear to look at anyone; she doesn’t want to see pity or worse, relief.  _ They might even be happy _ , the vicious part of her mind whispers, and she clenches her jaw, her eyes burning.

“What the hell?”

Anger was not what she was expecting. She looks up from the floor slowly, eyes locking with a furious Rosa.

“You’re the best damn production manager in Brooklyn, and the Vulture threatened to fire you over this stupid set?” Rosa growls.

“Well, actually, he told me I’d regret it if….” Amy can feel bile rising in her throat. No matter how many times she’s harassed, it leaves her feeling dirty, even if she manages to remain calm in the moment. Luckily, Terry steps in, saving her from having to explain.   


“If she didn’t sleep with him,” he says, disdain evident in his voice. “He offered to choose an easier design if she slept with him, and when Amy refused he threatened her and left.”

“What the hell?!”

This time, the exclamation isn’t from Rosa. Amy turns towards the sound, eyes widening in shock to see Jake shaking with anger.

“The Vulture actually said that to you?” he asks, voice dipping dangerously low.  
“It’s alright, Peralta,” Amy says quietly.

“No, it’s not, Santiago! He crossed a line. How are you so calm about that?” Jake asks in disbelief.

“Because it happens all the time,” Rosa says. Jake whips his head towards her, and she shrugs. “I can’t count the number of times I’ve been told to sleep with someone to get a job. Pembroke is just significantly hotter than the other scumbags.”

“She’s right, Peralta,” Amy says. “As comforting as your anger is, I’m used to this kind of thing.  What matters is proving that asshole wrong and putting up a great show, despite what he’s tried to do.” She eyes Rosa. “Although we will definitely be discussing your weird attraction to him.”

Rosa stares back. “No we won’t. I’ve already said too much about it.”

“By saying he’s hot?” Jake shudders. “Ugh, even thinking about you thinking that makes me want to throw up.”

Rosa shrugs. “It’s not any grosser than mayo nut spoonsies.”

Jake gasps. “Mayo nut spoonsies are amazing, you take that back! And that’s not even the same thing as being attracted to someone, Rosa - “

“Alright,” Amy puts up her hand. “We don’t have time for this, you guys. Your copies of the drafting are on the table. Let’s get to work.”

“Wait a second, guys,” Terry says, and Jake’s hand freezes halfway to the drafting. “Santiago, do they know about Holt?”

Amy flushes, the Vulture instantly forgotten. “I can’t believe I forgot to tell them,” she mutters. “Guys, we have a new artistic director.”

Jake rolls his eyes. “Yeah, we know Santiago. Wuntch told us last week she was being replaced.”

“But we didn’t know who was replacing her,” Amy retorts. “I got to meet him this morning and you’ll never guess who it is - Raymond Holt!” she beams, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Oh, he’s that director that speaks up about racism in the industry, right? Good dude,” Rosa nods. 

“Isn’t he supposed to be a hardass, though?” Jake’s nose wrinkles. “I heard he fired Dozerman for a grammatical error on his drafting. Dude needs to chill.”

“Actually, I fired Dozerman for using a homophobic slur in the theatre, but people prefer to spread the grammar rumour,” a new voice interrupts. “As far as ‘chilling’ goes, your current timeline doesn’t really allow for that, now does it?”

Jake’s eyes widen in horror as he looks at Amy.

“He’s behind me, isn’t he?” he stage whispers. Amy nods, a nervous grin on her face, and Jake whips around, mock-saluting Holt’s position in the doorway.

“Hello, dear Capitahn,” he says, a ridiculous British accent in place. “It is our pleasure to welcome you -” 

“Hello again, Mr. Holt. Is there something I can help you with?” Amy interrupts eagerly, desperate to shut Jake up.

Holt nods in her direction, and Amy nearly dies right there on the spot. “Hello, Miss Santiago. I just wanted to check in and introduce myself. For those who haven’t met me yet, I’m Raymond Holt, and I’m taking over the Nine-Nine effective immediately. You may call me Mr. Holt or Holt.”

“Speech!” Amy cheers, and Holt looks at her blankly.

“That was my speech,” he says slowly, and Amy feels the tips of her ears burning. Jake sniggers.

“Short and sweet,” she says, weakly pumping her fist. 

“Yes, well, given the time pressure you all are under, that seemed like the best course.” Holt says. He glances at Jake, who still has his hand against his forehead in a ridiculous salute. “Mr. Peralta, your British accent could use some work, although I request that you not waste Nine-Nine time to perfect it. As well, please refrain from calling me ‘Captain’ in the future.”

“You got it, Cap,” Jake says cheerfully. Holt simply eyes him.

“Yes, well. I know you have quite a bit to accomplish, so I’ll leave you to your work.” Holt turns to leave, and Jake is just posturing to do an impression when he suddenly turns back. “Oh, Miss Santiago, I nearly forgot. Miss Linetti volunteered to document your work in the coming week for our social media platforms.”

Amy blinks. “Gina? She volunteered to do work?”

Holt tilts his head. “Yes, she said that audiences love a behind-the-scenes look, that it makes them feel they’re somehow involved in the process. I believe it will help boost our ticket sales, and she said she was trained.”

Amy nods. “Yes, sir, I require all theatre personnel to be trained, including the actors. It helps prevent accidents.”

Something flashes in Holt’s eyes, too quick for Amy to catch. “In that case, I will approve her request to be in the workshops and theatre with your team to follow your progress. I assume you have no issue with that?”

Amy shakes her head vigorously. “No sir. It sounds like a wonderful plan.”

Holt nods. “Very well. In that case, please resume your work. There is a lot to do and very little time to do it in. I’ll check in with you all again at a later date.”

With that, Holt sweeps out of the doorway - an impressive feat only he could accomplish - and Amy’s shoulders relax very slightly. 

“Wow, Santiago, he really freaks you out huh?” Jake comments, eyeing her shoulders. Amy’s ears begin to burn again. 

“I just want to make a good impression, that’s all,” she says. “He’s not obligated to keep us past our contracts this season, remember? Any job security we had with Wuntch is gone. And now with the Vulture threatening my place here as well… I just don’t need to give Holt a reason to end my term with the Nine-Nine.”

Jake’s teasing grin fades immediately. “Wow, you’re really worried about this?” he asks softly. Amy nods.

“Don’t worry, Santiago. You’re amazing at your job and we all know it. We’ll do a kickass job on this show and make the Vulture regret opening his stupid hot mouth,” Rosa says firmly. 

“Yeah, Amy. You’re the best production manager I’ve ever worked with, and Holt’s gonna see that,” Jake says, surprisingly earnest.

Amy flushes fully at the praise. “Thanks, guys.”

Jakes smirk returns. “You have terrible taste in music, though. I’m definitely picking the playlist for this week.”

Immediately, the blush fades from Amy’s cheeks. “Hey! I have  _ great _ taste in music, you just don’t know how to appreciate it.”

Jake wrinkles his nose. “Weird bands from the seventies is hardly good music, Santiago.” He reaches over to the table and grabs two copies of the drafting, handing one to Rosa. “You tell people what to do, and I’ll provide the soundtrack for them, mmkay?”

Amy rolls her eyes, but grins good-naturedly. “Fine. You can make the playlist this time, Peralta, but if there’s any Taylor Swift on it I reserve the right to blast ABBA for the next month. And for the record, I’ve definitely heard you singing ‘Mamma Mia’ to yourself when you think no one’s around.”

Jake turns beet red. “What? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Anyways, we have a lot of work to do so chop chop people! Time is money, money is power, power is pizza, all that…” With that, he darts out of the room. Rosa rolls her eyes but follows shortly after, promising to provide Amy a list of assistant stage managers who are able to pull the overtime. Terry squeezes her shoulder once on the way out, and for the second time that morning Amy is left alone in the conference room. 

This time, however, she feels… good. Lighter, somehow. Rosa’s anger and Jake’s teasing have set her at ease, and were the exact thing she needed to clear her head and focus on the task at hand. If she’s going to be working long days with anybody, she’s glad, as always, that she’s working with these people. Even if she does have to relinquish control of the music to Jake.

A sudden thought strikes Amy, and her eyes widen with horror. She had said no Taylor Swift, but -

“Peralta!” she yells, quickly gathering her things and bolting out the door. “If I hear ANY rap on that playlist I’m withholding your paycheque!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO HERE WE GO FAM. I've had this fic outlined for literally months and I'm excited to finally be writing it proper. 
> 
> I woudn't be me if I didn't comment on the political aspects that came up in this chapter so... the conversation that Rosa and Amy have is, unfortunately, the reality of working in theatre (and I know a lot of industries treat women* specifically this way - and I fully acknowledge that cis white women have a different experience than trans, queer, and WOC). I've been lucky enough to never be in that position but I do know people who have, and I think the Times Up and #MeToo movement is incredibly important for empowering people to speak up about workplace harrassment and violence.
> 
> SO if you feel like you're able, please please donate to the Times Up movement. Every little bit helps. timesupnow.com.


End file.
